There are many quaint and curious characters that one will find around the market place. The candy man, or, boy, moves around with noiseless tread crying his wares in a song which never varies any more than his stock, which is always the same and arranged in exactly the same way. His dulces, however, have merit and it is not necessary to change anything already good. The evangelista, or letter writer, is here with a jug of ink and pen on a little table ready to write a business letter, or a billet doux flaming with passion and extravagant phrases for the unlettered lover. On the corners of the street may be seen the cobblers ready to cut and fit sandals “while you wait.” His whole stock in trade consists of a pile of scraps of sole leather and some leather thongs, while his only tool is a curved, sharp knife.

In and out of the crowd the faithful aguador, or water-carrier, winds his way bringing the refreshing water to thirsty mortals. He is not only a very necessary person in this land of little rain, but is a person of importance and knows the inner life of the household of his customers. His costume and water vessels vary in the different cities but he is the same honest character who ingeniously carries the love messages from the “bear” to his inamorata. After a morning of hard work his faithful wife brings his dinner of tortillas and frijoles to the fountain or well, and there he sits and eats his humble meal while she watches her lord and master until he has finished. Later in the day, tiring of his work or feeling the burden of prosperity as his stock of copper coins increases, he resorts to the pulque-shop and there shows his contempt for the beverage he has been distributing by imbibing large quantities of his favourite liquor.

Perhaps in no way is the general superstition and ignorance of the Indian shown to better advantage than in their ideas of disease and medicine. The curandera, usually a woman, admits having great knowledge of anatomy and chemistry, and has a pharmacopœia all her own. The accounts given here are vouched for by a writer in Modern Mexico who is a native of the country, understands these people and is entitled to belief. Aire (air), when introduced into the system through blows or unusually forcible sneezing, causes swellings, sore eyes and nervous tremblings. It is treated with plasters and bandages and lotions. When the alimentary canal is obstructed it is empacho, which means that undigested food has adhered to the stomach or the food has formed into balls and marbles that rattle around inside the stomach or intestines. This disease demands immediate and heroic treatment, and a drop of quicksilver swallowed at a gulp is prescribed and will generally dislodge it or kill the patient. Tiricia is indicated by homesickness, melancholia or insomnia, and is caused by a subtle vapour produced by the action of the moon on the dew and is absorbed through the pores. Change of climate, good company and tonics are a sensible prescription. Mal de ojo, or the evil eye, causes the sufferer to fade away or die of inanition, and is a common disease of children. Bright attractive objects are hung up to draw away the attention of the “evil eye.” If a child is slow in talking, a diet of boiled swallows is prescribed. One writer positively asserts that blue and red beads ground fine and mixed in equal portions have been given to persons suffering with paralysis, and the sufferers survived the treatment. The curandera is also called upon to mix love potions and poisons that will cause delirium or even insanity and death.

Another instance is told in the same periodical of a woman who was very sick with a disease from the effects of which she was practically helpless. A curandera had told the husband to get a white turkey and tie it in the house and his wife would get well. When the turkey had failed to cure her an old man curandero was procured, who promised to make her well if supplied with plenty of aguardiente (brandy). Four dollars worth was supplied him, and four dollars will buy a great deal of poor brandy in Mexico. The old man laid himself down on the ground, after filling himself up with the fire-water, pounded his head and kept repeating weird incantations which could be heard a long distance away. This was continued for several days until the supply of spirits gave out. In the meantime the patient had improved somewhat and could use her arms and body as far as the waist. The shrewd old man shrugged his shoulders and said, “I have cured her as far as I can. You will have to get a curandera to complete the cure.” The poor woman soon died, because, as the husband declared, she had been bewitched.

CHAPTER XII
HOLIDAYS AND HOLY-DAYS

It is impossible to understand Mexico or the Mexicans without knowing something of their feasts and festivals which play such a large part in the life of these people. In fact there is very little of the social life in Mexico that is not the outgrowth of or intimately connected with the holy-days of the Church. The saint’s day of each member, that is the day in the church calendar devoted to the saint after whom the person is named, takes the place of the birthday for gifts and family celebrations. The fiestas, or feast-days, of the church are very numerous and are pretty well observed, although business is not entirely suspended. The church holidays are either different from those in other Catholic countries or are observed in a truly national way in Mexico.

To one who enjoys mixing with the common people and learning their customs, habits and ways of thinking, in other words, endeavouring to get into their real, inner life, it is a perpetual delight to visit the cities and villages on the fiesta occasions and mingle with the people in their celebration. This association with a free-hearted, pleasure-loving people on their gala days unconsciously broadens the views of a traveller in a new country, and develops a sympathy which can be awakened in no other way. The crowds jostle each other good naturedly and will treat the stranger with respect. Too many visitors to this country try to judge everything from the American standard and find little to commend. They should remember that Mexico is Oriental rather than Anglo-Saxon, and that the Spanish-Moorish civilization is here blended with the Aztec. Such a civilization cannot be without merit and it must have some inherent good qualities. If one wants to understand a country rightly, he must first try to enter into the lives of the people and then look at life from their point of view.

It would be impossible within the limits prescribed to describe all the celebrations in honour of the hundreds of saints and the numerous secular holidays. A description of a few of these occasions, most generally observed, will give the reader a good idea of the nature of all.

Christmas celebrations in Mexico are very much different from those in the United States. There is no merry jingle of the sleigh bells in this land of Christmas sunshine and skies as blue as those of Naples; and there are no plans dependent upon whether the day may chance to be white or green. The few lofty volcanic peaks, on which alone snow is ever seen, would not tempt the most enthusiastic tobogganist. As there are no chimneys, the children need not sit up at night until sleep overtakes them, to see Santa Claus descend with his heavy pack filled with the things that boys and girls like. Even the time honoured custom of hanging up stockings is unknown to Mexican children. Perhaps they enjoy themselves quite as much after their own fashion as we do after ours. They have good things to eat, and the beautiful flowers are so cheap that no matter how humble the Mexican home may be, it affords a few sprays of the scarlet Noche Bueno, the beautiful Christmas plant. Their celebrations are long continued for they begin nine days before Christmas and last until the Feast of the Epiphany on the 6th of January; and this entire time is one long delightful jubilee.

These celebrations, which begin on the sixteenth of December and continue until the twenty-fifth, are called posadas. The word in Spanish means an “inn,” or abiding place, and while the celebration, in its origin, was distinctly religious, it is now only semi-religious, and has become an extremely gay and sociable occasion. The posadas are limited to the cities but, in those places, the poorest as well as the richest families hold them and they are a celebration peculiar to this country.

The origin of the posada is in the gospel narrative of the Nativity. Because Cæsar had issued the decree that all the world should be taxed, Mary and Joseph came to Bethlehem to be enrolled. Mary made the journey mounted upon an ass which Joseph led. As the shadows of the night descended, they were obliged to ask for shelter, and it is no wonder that the request was not always granted readily and willingly, but was many times refused during the trip that is supposed to have taken nine days.

On the last day, having arrived at Bethlehem, and because the city was so full of people, they wandered about for a long time without finding admittance to either private house or inn. At last, being tired and weary, and because no room could be secured, they took refuge in a stable where Christ was born. Therefore, it is, that in order to celebrate this journey fully, the posadas begin with the journey at Nazareth. Each year a house is chosen in a family circle, or among a group of friends, and at that house for nine consecutive nights the festival is held. Or, sometimes, the celebration will be held at different houses during that period.

The journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem and the difficulties encountered on the way, are represented by the first part of the celebration. At the appointed hour the guests assemble at the house which has been chosen for the celebration on that particular night. Each person present, members of the family, guests and servants, is furnished with a lighted candle, and two and two, they march around the halls and through the corridors several times chanting the solemn “Litany of Loretto.” As each invocation is ended the audience chant “ora pro nobis” (“pray for us”). At the head of the procession the figures of Joseph and Mary made of clay or wax, dressed in gay, incongruously-coloured satins are borne either in the hands or lying in a basket. Sometimes these figures are dressed in brilliant costumes of lace with tinselled borderings. At each door the procession pauses and knocks and begs admittance, but no answer or invitation to enter is given. When the litany is finished some of the party enter a room while the rest with the figures of Joseph and Mary remain outside and sing a chant something like the following:—

The reply to this is:—

At last, however, the door is opened and all go in and Joseph and Mary have secured shelter for the night. The pilgrims are placed on an improvised altar and some prayers are recited, though the religious exercises are generally hurried through in the quickest manner possible. Sometimes, to make the scene more realistic, a burro is introduced in the procession to represent the faithful animal that carried the holy family in their wanderings. Frequently, on the last night, in a room, or on the roof, a kind of stable is arranged in which the figures of Joseph and Mary are placed with the utmost reverence. On this night a figure of the infant Jesus is also carried. After the litany the party proceed to have a general good time which is kept up until a late hour. Occasionally, in the homes of the wealthy, these entertainments are on a very elaborate scale and costly souvenirs are presented to each guest. Everywhere in the cities is heard the litany of the posada, for it is celebrated almost universally. It is sung in hundreds and thousands of homes and the processions wind in and out of the rooms and round the improvised shrines. The patios are hung with venetian lights, and fireworks blaze skyward in every direction. In the City of Mexico the posadas are most elaborate among the official and wealthy families, and the Zocalo plaza is a bewitching place with its many lights and the multitudes of children who gather here for celebration. The clergy are now censuring the “posadas” because of the irreverent spirit in which they are celebrated.

In Mexico the piñate takes the place of the Christmas tree. It is an oval shaped, earthen jar, handsomely decorated with tinsel and streamers of tissue paper, made up to represent curious figures. They represent clowns, ballet girls, monkeys, roosters, various grotesque animals, and even children almost life sized. The jars are crammed full of sweets, rattles, whistles and crackers. The breaking of the piñate follows the litany and is an exciting event, which generally occurs in the patio. It is suspended from the ceiling and then each person desiring to take part is blindfolded in turn, and, armed with a pole, proceeds to strike the swinging piñate. Three trials are permitted. Sometimes many are blindfolded before a successful blow brings the sweets and bon-bons rattling to the floor. Then there is a race and a scramble for the dainties. Thousands of these piñates are broken each Christmas season and the vendors of them perambulating the streets with a pole across the shoulders on which are suspended the grotesque figures, add life and zest to the season. Then to see a well dressed, sedate-looking, business man hurrying home with a grotesque tissue-paper creation of gorgeous hues with tinselled decorations and gay streamers under his arms is a curious but not uncommon sight.

Holy week, as the week preceding Easter is called, is celebrated in an elaborate and truly original way. The religious processions which formerly attended these celebrations are now prohibited by law. During these few days the bells, organs and choirs are silent, the stores are closed and there is a general holiday. As an evidence that vanity is not entirely absent, on Holy Thursday it is customary for men and women to turn out in good clothes and many of the ladies appear in handsome and elaborate gowns. Then on Good Friday everything is changed and the whole country mourns. Sombre black takes the place of the more brilliant raiment of the preceding day; downcast eyes and solemn faces succeed the smiles and coquettish glances of yesterday.

On Saturday occurs the most grotesque and curious of all the festivals of the Church. It is the day on which final disposition is made of that arch-traitor Judas Iscariot, and the day is devoted to his humiliation and death. Effigies of the traitor are hung over the streets everywhere and all day long men parade the streets with figures of the betrayer of Christ upon poles. These effigies range in size from miniature figures to those of gigantic proportions. Each figure is made of papier maché, is filled with explosives and has a fuse which is generally the moustache. Hundreds of the images are sold to the children in each city who explode them with great glee. Judas is represented with folded hands, arms akimbo, with legs in running posture and in every conceivable attitude. Some of them bear suggestive mottoes such as “I am a scion of the Devil” and “Let me give up the Ghost.” Each person must destroy a Judas.

At ten o’clock as the great bells of the cathedral in the City of Mexico sound and other bells follow, the fuses to these effigies are lighted. The great Judases strung across the streets or tied to balconies are exploded amid great rejoicing. Coins representing the thirty pieces of silver paid to Judas are sometimes thrown to the crowd from the windows of wealthy residents or clubs. Every one grows wild and the little folks become almost beside themselves with excitement. The bells in the towers ring out their rejoicings and a peculiar apparatus gives out a sound which represents the breaking of the bones of the thieves on the cross. The crowds also have innumerable rattles which make a hideous, grating sound intended to represent the same incident. The noise of the bells, the explosion of the fire-crackers, and the shouts of the multitude form a strange, exciting, ludicrous scene never to be forgotten. When the last Judas has been demolished, the excitement subsides and a good-natured frolic follows.

The national holidays, of which there are many, are greatly overshadowed by those pertaining to the Church, and none of them are so universally observed. Not all the feasts and festivals of Mexico are of Romish origin. Some of them are founded upon the remains of Aztec idolatry, for the priests of the early days with a wise foresight adopted the same day for feast-days in many instances. Though these Indians probably could not tell why, yet they have a great reverence for the saints whom they worship after their own fashion. They are delighted to have more occasions for decorating themselves and their churches with flowers, marching in processions, dancing and letting off rockets.

The Fiesta de las Flores, or Feast of the Poppies, celebrated in April, is held on the Viga Canal and was originally a day devoted to the worship of the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl, the god of nature with them. On that day the bloody, sacrificial rites were suspended and all joined in this festival of flowers. This fiesta has lost all its religious significance but it is said to be celebrated much the same as in Aztec times. All day long the canal is filled with boats large and small manned by the dusky natives. Indian women and nut-brown maids with wreaths of poppies on their heads and garlands of the same around their necks, sing the songs of the people and dance as they move along. On the shore and in the boats the native bands play, and the broad highway along the banks of the Viga is crowded with long lines of carriages filled with the aristocracy of the Capital who have come out to witness this unique celebration.

Mexico, like each good Mexican Catholic, has a patron saint who presides over her destinies. This saint has not only been adopted by the government in times past, but has been proclaimed as the guardian of Mexico by the Holy See, and only a few years ago was duly crowned as the Virgin of Guadalupe in ceremonies made memorable by the large number of church dignitaries present. Her miraculous appearance came at an apropos time and greatly assisted in attracting the natives to the new worship.

The Aztecs had long worshipped a deity called Tonantzin, “Mother of Gods,” who was supposed to reside on the Hill of Tepeyacac, now called Guadalupe. Tradition says that a devout Indian named Juan Diego, who resided in the village of Tolpetlac, and who recently had been converted to Christianity, was passing by this way on the morning of the 9th day of December, 1531, on his way to early mass. When at the base of this hill there suddenly burst upon his ears a melody of sweet music, as of a chorus of birds singing together in harmony. Surprised at this unusual music he looked up and lo, just above him, rested a cloud more brilliant than a rainbow and in the centre of the cloud stood a lady. Thoroughly frightened he fell to his knees, but was aroused by a voice which proceeded from the cloud and called “Juan.” He looked up and the lady told him to go to the Bishop of Mexico, and tell him that she wanted a church built on this hill in her honour. He did so, but the Bishop was loth to believe this wonderful tale from a poor, ignorant Indian. A second and yet a third time did the same vision appear to the pious Juan and make the same request. On this last occasion Juan had passed on the opposite side of the hill to avoid the woman but to no avail. Upon the report of the third vision the Bishop told Juan to ask for some unmistakable sign. The lady appeared again on the following morning and Juan told her of the Bishop’s request. She told him to go up the hill and gather flowers from the barren hillside where they had never been known to grow. As soon as he reached there many beautiful flowers appeared in a miraculous manner, which Juan gathered up in his tilma, or blanket, and took to the Bishop. When he had emptied his tilma the image of the Virgin was found on the blanket in most brilliant colours.

The Bishop reverently took the tilma and accepted it as an unmistakable token. He at once began the erection of a chapel where it had been commanded. As soon as the chapel was completed, he hung the tilma on the high altar where it has remained ever since except for a few short periods. It can now be seen under a glass upon the payment of a small fee. Some persons say that upon examination it proves to be only a cheap daub upon coarse, cotton material; others say that it was taken out a few years ago and examined and they could not find any trace of paint, but that the colours seemed to stay there in some miraculous way. Not being permitted to make a personal examination, I leave the reader to make his choice as inclination directs.

From the time of its origin this legend has had a wonderful and deep influence upon the Indians. It is even so to-day. Our Lady of Guadalupe is looked upon by them as their patron and protector. Coming so soon after the conquest and appearing on a hill already sacred to that race, it led thousands to the new religion. The main church is very large and imposing with a nave two hundred feet long and one hundred and twenty-two feet wide, and cost over two million dollars in gold. The altar is magnificent and it has a solid silver railing weighing several tons around the chancel. There is another chapel connected with the cathedral church. Back of these is the miraculous spring which burst forth from the very spot on which the Virgin stood at her last appearance. Half way up the hill are some stone sails erected by a grateful mariner, and on the top of the hill is another chapel. Back of this is a cemetery in which Santa Anna and other noted persons are buried. A beautiful view of the capital and the Valley of Mexico is obtained from the top of the hill which well repays for the exertion in climbing.

Thus sing the Indians on the 12th of December of each year. This is the day that has been appointed for the great “fiesta” in honour of the Virgin who appeared to Juan Diego. All others fade into insignificance and are completely overshadowed by the annual celebrations in honour of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Any one who happens to be in the City of Mexico on this date, or a few days prior thereto, should not fail to take the street car for Guadalupe, a suburban town about three miles to the eastward. The route follows an ancient Aztec causeway which was old when Cortez invaded this valley. To the merry hum of the trolley, which seems strangely out of place on this historic highway, the traveller is carried along. One does not need to be told that something out of the ordinary is about to take place. The streets of the capital and all the roads leading to Guadalupe are alive with people on their way to this most sacred shrine. It is said that many of these Indians tramp hundreds of miles to be present on these occasions, taking their food with them and sleeping out in the open air. Tens of thousands of Indians are present at each annual celebration and the number is said in some years to equal a hundred thousand souls and more.

In Guadalupe the streets and plazas around the famous church are crowded with booths for the sale of native wares, candles, images of the Virgin and for the carrying-on of many kinds of gambling. There are many booths in which refreshments are served by women in native costumes. The viands include cold chicken, eggs, tamales, frijoles (beans), cakes and sweets. For beverages you can take your choice between beer and pulque. A motley assemblage is present. Indians from the hot lands mingle with the purer types of the Aztec from the mountains and table lands. The swarms of Indians fairly crowd the plaza and streets, some eating and drinking, some sleeping, some making love and some whiling away the time with cards or other gambling devices. All these people, of course, belong to the peon class. Mingled with the natives here and there are all types of Mexicans, and a number of Americans drawn here by curiosity add variety to the occasion. The lame, the blind and the halt are there too; for alms are plentiful and Our Lady possesses wondrous powers of healing. Many testimonials to this fact are seen in the little chapel which shelters the miraculous spring. Hundreds and thousands carry away with them a bottle of these healing waters.

A feeling of reverence pervades the sanctuary. The kneeling figures with bodies motionless and their eyes and faces fixed upon the high altar, crowd the floor until it is impossible to move. One can not help being impressed by this feeling of reverence pervading the church and chapels. Outside it is different; for here the throng moves around visiting the booths, eating, drinking and gambling. Indian minstrels play their weird airs. Beggars cry out to give them something “por el amor del Dios” (“for the love of God”). At night the plaza and streets are one indistinguishable mass of dark, reclining and slumbering figures wrapped in their blankets and shawls. The elements are kind in December for it is the dry season.

The next day after one of these celebrations I left the capital for Puebla. For many miles we kept passing Indians singly, in groups, and whole families together homeward bound. They followed well-worn paths which were plainly visible. The trails were narrow and all marched along single file in regular Indian fashion. They would stop and look at our train as it noisily passed by. Perhaps they were happy in their simple way in the thought that for one year more, at least, Our Lady of Guadalupe would watch over and protect them, her humble worshippers.

CHAPTER XIII
A TRANSPLANTED SPORT

The bull-fight as an amusement is the exclusive property of the Spaniard. It originated in Spain and has never spread beyond the limits of Spanish conquest. Perhaps it is this very exclusiveness that causes them to cling to it so tenaciously, though legislatures and governments have made vigorous efforts to abolish the brutal spectacles. It is, according to a native writer, a proof of the superiority of the Spaniard, because “the Spanish men are as much more brave than other men, as the Spanish bull is more savage and valiant than all other bulls.” Rather, it seems to me to be a survivor of the ancient gladiatorial contests, or fights between man and beast in the great amphitheatres of Rome.

I had never before, even when standing within the historic walls of the Colosseum, been able to picture in my own mind the scene of the arena crowded with combatants while the expectant multitude filled the seats in tier upon tier, until I found myself within the great bull-ring of Madrid. There was the arena, and round about were the eager throng, a crowd of fourteen thousand human beings who impatiently and anxiously awaited the sound of the bugle which would announce the opening of the spectacle of blood and brute torture. Then it was possible to understand how, in an earlier and more brutal age, the Roman populace gloated over the combats where the death of some of the participants was as much fore-doomed as the fate of the bull who enters the ring to-day with a defiant toss of his horns.

If popularity is to be judged by the amount of patronage, then the bull-fight is the most popular amusement in Mexico to-day. The national life is permeated with the sport. The Sunday bull-fight is the topic of conversation in the capital for the following week. Even the children indulge in imitations of this favourite game in their childish way. It is only on Sundays and feast days that the corrida de toros occurs. Six days shalt thou do nothing and on the seventh go to the bull-fight, runs an old Madrid saying. They probably go on the theory that a good entertainment is better on that day than any other. It is useless to argue with a Spaniard or Spanish-American about the brutality or inhumanity of these spectacles as they will immediately remind us of the prize-fights within our own borders which frequently result in death. This is a gentle hint that we should clean our own Augean stables before telling our neighbours what they should not do. Perhaps it is a rebuke that is not entirely out of place.

The Plaza de Toros is always a great, circular building of stone or wood with little pretence or ornament. It is built for the bull-fight and for no other purpose. The interior is an immense amphitheatre, with seats in tiers rising to the top where the private boxes are located. These alone have a roof, as all the rest of the structure is open to the sky. Half the seats are exposed to the bright sun and the other half are in shadow. The seats on the sol, or sunny side, generally cost only about half as much as those in the sombra, or shady part. The fights are usually advertised “if the time and weather permits.” The ring itself is an arena about a hundred feet in diameter, encircled by a high board fence with a lower barrier on the inside, which serves as a means of escape for a torero who is too closely pursued by the irate bull. Sometimes a bull will leap over this first barrier and then an exciting race follows.

An American will not soon forget the first sight of the full amphitheatre. The scene is an exciting one and there is a tension of the nerves in anticipation of what is to come. The bands play and, if there is any delay, the thousands of impatient spectators will shout and yell themselves hoarse. There is usually a cheer when the president for the occasion and his companions take their seats. At length the gates opposite the president are opened and a gaily caparisoned horseman, called the alguacil, appears. He asks permission to kill the bulls. This being granted, the president tosses him the key to the bull-pen, which he catches in his hat. He is cheered if he does catch it and hissed if he fails. The gate opens again and the gay company of bull-fighters is announced by the blast of trumpets. These men arrayed in costumes of red, yellow, green and blue silks, satins and velvets, glittering with beads, jewels and gold braid, form a brilliant spectacle as they march across the arena to salute the president, after the manner of the gladiators of old. Every one taking part in this exhibition appears in this procession, from the matador to the men with wheelbarrows and shovels who clean up the arena after each performance. I said all, but the principal character himself is reserved until later. After saluting the president the company march around the ring to receive the plaudits of the people.

The bull-fight is a tragedy in three acts. After the company have withdrawn, the door through which the bull enters is unlocked and the first act begins with a flourish of trumpets. The bull rushes out from a dark stall into the dazzling light, furious with rage and trembling in every limb. This is an intense moment and all eyes are centred upon the newcomer. As he enters, a barbed steel hook covered with flowing ribbons is placed in his shoulder. The ribbons indicate the ranch or hacienda from whence he came. Even the street urchins can recognize the colours of a hacienda which has the reputation of producing animals that are noted for their belligerent qualities.

Startled by the intense light and enraged by the stinging of the steel hook, the bull stands for an instant recovering his senses. Sometimes he will paw the earth, toss the dust over his back and bellow his defiance. Around him in the ring are the capeadores, men on foot carrying red capes, and picadores, men on horses armed with lances. These latter sit motionless as statues upon their steeds that are blindfolded ready for the sacrifice.

After a moment of uncertainty, the bull dashes either at a capeador or picador. The former quickly runs to the barrier and nimbly leaps over, leaving the bull more infuriated than ever. The horse attracts his attention next and there is no way of escape for this poor, old, broken down servant of man. The picador makes no effort to save his steed, which is blindfolded so that he may not see his danger, but simply plants his blunt spear-point in the shoulder of the brute. Sometimes this will save the horse, but it does not please the audience for a certain number of horses must be sacrificed. More frequently the bull will, with a single toss of the horns, overthrow both horse and rider in a heap. The capeadores then hover around with their cloaks and distract the attention of the bull from the prostrate rider who is helpless because of his iron armour. Once I saw a rider fall on the back of the bull much to the surprise of both. It is seldom that a picador is killed, for the bull will nearly always leave him and chase a red cloak.

Fortunate, indeed, is the horse that is instantly killed. If able to walk, he is ridden around in the ring again with blood streaming from his wounds and trampling upon his own bowels. Or the poor brute may be sewed up in a crude, surgical way in order to enable him to canter around the ring a few more times. Once, only, in an experience covering several bull-fights in several countries, have I seen a horse drop dead from the first blow. The fight is not complete without the shedding of the blood of horses, and sometimes the crowd will clamour for more horses before this act is closed. There must be enough, for economy in this feature will place the people in a bad mood. The audience must be catered to, for if disappointed they are likely to demolish the ring and tear up the seats as a method of showing their displeasure. This, in itself, is sufficient to prove the debasing and brutalizing influence of this sport.

In the second act the banderilleros, men who plant the banderillas in the neck of the bull, appear in the arena. This is the most artistic and most interesting act in the entire performance, for great skill is displayed and little blood spilled. These men come in the ring without cape or any means of defence and depend entirely upon their skill and agility for safety. They are finely dressed and are usually superbly built fellows with lithe and muscular bodies. The banderillero takes with him a pair of barbed darts about two feet long and covered with fancy coloured paper with ribbon streamers. He shakes these at the bull, thus provoking an assault. Then, just when he seems to be on the bull’s horns and the novice turns his face away to avoid the scene, he plants the darts in the gory neck of the bull and steps lightly aside. These darts re-enrage the bull, who has been getting rather tired of the whole affair. He attacks whatever engages his attention. It may be only a dead horse which he will then tear open, being aroused to fury by the smell of the blood.

There are usually two of these men and each plants four darts in the bull’s neck. They must be placed in front of the shoulder and so firmly inserted that they will not be shaken out. If successful in these particulars, then the banderillero who is a favourite will receive prolonged applause and a perfect volley of complimentary comments. Even the matador himself ofttimes deigns to take part in this act. If so, he performs the act in some daring and novel way. They will sometimes sit in a chair and thus plant the darts, or take a pole and vault over the bull after placing them. Occasionally a bull is cowardly and will not fight. Then “fire” is called for and darts filled with powder which explodes in the flesh are used. This will cause the bull to dance and skip around in his agony, which is very pleasing to the audience and furnishes variety to an otherwise monotonous exhibition.

The trumpet sounds the last act. This is the duel,—the death. Everything has been done with reference to this act. The first two acts have been intended to madden the animal and tire him by the violent exercise and loss of blood. He is panting, his sides heave as though they would burst, his neck is one mass of blood over which, as if in mockery, hang the many-hued darts. The man with the sword would not stand much show with a fresh and unwearied animal. This actor is the matador, or espada, and, if known as one who kills his bulls with a single stroke of the sword, he will receive great applause on entering. He steps forward to the president’s box and makes a little speech, offering to kill the bull to the honour of Mexico. Throwing his hat to some one in the seats, (for it is considered an honour to hold any of his apparel) the hero advances sword in hand toward the bull, who, during this by-play, has been entertained by the cape-bearers again. He bears in his left hand a staff, called the muleta, over which is a red flag, and in the right a keen-edged sword. The flag serves both as a lure to the beast and a protection to the man. He is usually pale and always alert, and studies the animal for a moment to ascertain his disposition. This can not be prolonged for the audience will not brook delay. The tension of nerves is too great. As the bull makes a rush for the red flag, with head lowered, the matador plunges the keen blade into the bull’s shoulders up to the hilt. The bull staggers and dies.

It is wonderful to see how excited and enthusiastic the crowd becomes when the matador has made a skilful killing. They rise and cheer and wave their handkerchiefs. As he passes around the ring to receive their applause, a perfect volley of hats, coats, handkerchiefs, and cigars are thrown toward him. These are tossed back except the cigars or any money that may have been included. If the killing has been poorly made, or in a bungling manner, hisses replace cheers and boards or chairs may be thrown instead of hats and cigars. At a fight in Guatemala City I saw one matador chased out of the ring, and he did not return again during that performance. This was done after he had made three unsuccessful attempts to kill the bull and had plunged two swords into the poor, tortured animal without striking a vital spot.

Then comes the finale. Teams of gaily-decked mules are brought in to drag out the dead bull and horses. The bloody places are covered over with sawdust in order to prevent slipping. Even before the dead animals are removed, the two or three picadores appear on other sorry-looking steeds, even worse than the first ones if such a thing were possible. The trumpet sounds, the door flies open and another bull comes rushing in to meet the same fate as the first. The play begins again with the same variety of sickening incidents. Others follow in regular order until the usual number of six bulls have been dispatched. The management is usually very careful not to promise more than will be performed, for they know the temper of the audience too well. At a bull-fight in Madrid, which I attended, the management had promised ten bulls in its posters but the tickets only called for eight. After the eighth bull had been dispatched the end was announced, but the crowd refused to leave. All over the vast amphitheatre rang the cry “otro toro” (another bull), repeated over and over again in one swelling cadence with ever-increasing volume. The management was obdurate and the multitudes left muttering their maledictions.

Formerly gentlemen of the court mounted on the finest horses in the kingdom entered the arena and fought the bull like the knights of old. Now the sport has degenerated and is performed by professionals hired for the purpose. I once had the opportunity of witnessing a bull-fight by the Portuguese method. This is the bull-fight deprived of its disgusting details. It is even more exciting and dispenses with the killing of both bull and horses. The men with the red cloaks are employed just the same but the men who place the banderillas are mounted on horses. They are not broken-down hacks, but magnificent, well-trained animals and good care is taken that the bull does not make sausage meat of them. As a further protection, the points of the bull’s horns are covered with balls to prevent injury to the horses. Their sport consists in riding past the bull, and placing the darts without permitting the bull to touch the horse. It is a feat that requires great skill and a steady nerve. After the bull is thoroughly tired out, a number of oxen are driven in the ring, the exhausted bull is taken out and another one brought in to continue the sport. In any form bull-fighting is bad enough, but if a line can be drawn between degrees of evil, the method of the Portuguese is the least to be condemned.

Tauromachy has many devotees who follow the fights in all their features as the base ball fan watches the sporting page of the American newspaper. In some places the spectacles are reported in all their most minute details, even down to the number of minutes it took the bull to die after receiving the fatal stroke. The killing of bulls is a science and there are many different schools which have been founded by great masters. A renowned matador receives as much attention as the champion prize-fighter in English speaking countries. They receive great sums of money but are almost invariably improvident and save little. The fights are not unattended by danger, for deaths are not infrequent and serious injuries are a common occurrence.

Ladies attend these spectacles and seem to derive as much pleasure as those who are supposed to be made of sterner stuff. Their black eyes sparkle with excitement and they shower their appreciation upon the successful one without reserve. It is the place for dress as the opera is in other lands. All the gallantry in the Spanish nature comes to the front on the way to and at the bull-fight. The enthusiasm, the manners, the expressions—all are distinctly national.

In Mexico the light on the horizon seems to be growing brighter, and the beginning of the end of this brutal and un-American sport is apparently in sight. It is not in favour with the present officials in the national capital and in many of the state capitals. Three of the most important states absolutely forbid the bull-fights, and heavy penalties are provided for any violations of the law. Statutes to prohibit them have been enacted in the federal district on more than one occasion, but they have been as often repealed so great was the popular demand for them. The best people do not now attend the performances in the City of Mexico but this fact has made little diminution in the crowd. Their places are taken by foreigners resident there, many of whom are among the most ardent supporters of the sport. I predict that within the next decade there will be few states in the Republic of Mexico that will permit the bull-fight within their borders. Such action may curtail a profitable industry and remove a good market for worn-out horses, but these material losses will be more than compensated in the development of those elements of character which can not be measured by the low standard of mere dollars and cents.

CHAPTER XIV
EDUCATION AND THE ARTS

Any one who is acquainted with the conditions existing in Spain or any part of Spanish America would naturally surmise that education in New Spain is at a low ebb. What education does exist is confined to a few. When you know that districts can be found in Spain to-day where scarcely ten per cent. of the inhabitants have mastered the art of reading or writing, it is not surprising to learn that after three centuries of the rule of Spanish governors and viceroys, ninety-five per cent. of the population of Mexico still remained in profound ignorance. Learning for the masses was regarded as prejudicial by those representatives and misrepresentatives of the home government. One viceroy voiced this sentiment by saying that only the catechism should be taught in America. Students are not likely to go beyond the learning of their teachers, and these were obliged to pass examination in only the most elementary branches. As a natural result, instruction soon fell into the hands of the incompetent. Teaching did not attract the bright minds. Those who cared for scholastic attainments prepared for the church or law. Others became soldiers or adventurers.

The first viceroy, Mendoza, was a broad-minded man and interested in his new empire. At his death he left a sum of money with which to establish a university to be open to all classes. This institution was actually established as early as 1551.

Very few of the aborigines attained much culture, although a few of the Aztec nobles were notable exceptions. Education was in general left to the church but was neglected by that institution. The Jesuits, whatever their faults may have been, were interested in education, and at the time of their expulsion in 1767 conducted a large number of colleges and seminaries.

In the seventeenth century the City of Mexico was looked upon as a great seat of learning and a literary centre. Even before the Shakesperian era of English writers, literature had its beginnings in that city. Bishop Zumarraga, the first “Bishop of the Great City of Tenuchtitlan,” encouraged writers as well as miraculous visitations such as the Virgin of Guadalupe. Through his efforts, the first printing press of the new world had been set up in this seat of ancient Aztec civilization, in 1535, about a hundred years before one was in use in the British colonies. A dozen books had been printed in the City of Mexico before 1550, and almost a hundred before the close of the sixteenth century. Some of these were printed in the Indian languages including the Mixtec, Zapotec, Nahuatl, Huaxtec, Tarascan and others.

The very first book printed on this first press bore the following impressive and “elevating” title: Escala Espiritual para llegar al Cielo, Traducido del Latin en Castellano por el Venerable Padre Fr Ivan de la Madalena, Religioso Dominico, 1536. Translated into English it means the Spiritual Ladder for reaching Heaven, Translated from Latin into Spanish by Father Ivan, Dominican. This book was written especially for students preparing for the priesthood, and no copies of it are in existence so far as is known. The second book was a Christian Doctrine, printed in 1539 “to the honour and glory of Our Lord Jesus Christ and of the Most Sacred Virgin, His Mother.” It was published in the native language also “for the benefit of the native Indians and the salvation of their souls.” A few of the books departed from a strictly religious character, but all of them drew deep religious truths from every event. One of the early books was an account of a great earthquake in the City of Guatemala which, as the title page suggests, should be an example that “we amend our sins and be prepared whenever God shall be pleased to call us.” Nearly all of these early books were written by Spanish priests and members of the religious orders. The first music of the new world was printed here also in the old illuminated style, as well as the first wood-engraving.

The first newspaper in Mexico was the Mercurio Volante, or The Flying Mercury, established in 1693. From that time until the present day, newspapers have existed, but they were so hampered and restricted in their utterances that their influence and circulation was small until long after independence had been proclaimed. Now there are a great many newspapers and periodicals of all kinds and descriptions published in the capital. However, no American would class them with our own newspapers, for the reason that they do not seem to have the “nose for news” of the American journalist. A Mexican reporter would not think of invading the sanctity of the home even for a “scoop” over his competitors. Likewise the family skeleton is generally safe, which is certainly a commendable feature. Not one of the many newspapers published could be classed as sensational or of the “yellow” stripe. Mexico’s reading public is comparatively small even to this day because of the still large illiterate class. El Imparcial, the leading daily and official organ of the government, does not have a circulation exceeding seventy-five thousand, scattered all over the republic. Its editor is an influential member of congress. It publishes an afternoon edition called El Mundo (the world). The Popular is second in circulation. Tiempo (times) is the leading Catholic daily. Other papers are Pais (country), Patria and Sucesos (events). There are two English newspapers published in the capital of which The Mexican Herald is the leading one and is the best newspaper in the country. It is widely read by both foreigners and official and influential Mexicans. There is an illustrated weekly, El Mundo Illustrado, an agricultural paper, The Heraldo Agricola and many other periodicals of various kinds. Modern Mexico is an excellent illustrated monthly magazine edited in the City of Mexico and published in New York. It is printed in both Spanish and English and is devoted to Mexican interests in general. Many of the cities have daily newspapers, but they are generally inferior and uninfluential publications. The best paper published in Vera Cruz could not compare with an American newspaper published in a little hamlet.

Mexico has produced many writers and some of them have been very prolific in their productions. It can not be said that there was much originality to the early writers when they departed from historical lines, but there is a sprightliness and rhythm in their epics that holds the attention of the reader. The bright spots in the history of literature for the first generation after the conquest are made by a group of Indian writers, bearing the unpronounceable names of Ixtlilxochitli, Tezozomoc and Nitzahualcoyotl. These men recorded the glory of their ancestors in prose and poetry. Although their Spanish is faulty, their genius is clear. Bernal Diaz, the early companion of Cortez and afterwards governor of Guatemala, wrote from the latter place his “True History of the Events of the Conquest of New Spain.” It is a very readable work and a fascinating account of an interesting country and a primitive race. The writings of Las Casas have been much criticised but they deserve mention. Other chroniclers are Bustamente, Alvarez and Iglesias.

Poetry has always had a leading place in the literature of Mexico for the Spanish language is well suited to verse and their love poems have the highest rank. Some of the modern writers are better known in Europe than on this continent. The two leading poets are Juan de Dios Pesa, called the Mexican Longfellow, and José Peon y Contreras. The latter is foremost in the ranks of living poets.

Literary talent is much encouraged by the government and any one showing marked literary ability is almost sure to be offered some government position. An instance of this is seen in the career of Vicente Riva Palacio, a well known novelist and dramatist who has been governor, cabinet member and Justice of the Supreme Court. Another example was the poet Prieto who served in the cabinet of several presidents and died a few years ago. The Minister of Fomento (encouragement) can issue deserving books from the government press, if he so desires, and a number of works, especially historical treatises, have been issued in this way. The reason is, I suppose, because the reading public is not yet very large and a meritorious book would possibly have only a limited sale. These conditions are fast passing away. The drama and the tragic have ever filled a large place in the life of the Mexican people. A number of their dramatic books have become well known in Spanish-speaking countries but have not been translated into English.

After the struggle for independence, nothing was done in the way of education until almost the middle of the last century. The colleges and schools already established had begun to languish. Even after that date little was done, because the church was so occupied in retaining its own foothold, and each successive government inherited only a burden of debt from its predecessors. Juarez had the desire to establish schools but not the means. Maximilian would no doubt have promoted education but his throne was never secure.

The development of the school system is so recent that it may safely be said to date from the first inauguration of President Diaz in 1876. Listen to what this so-called republican despot says upon this subject, which expresses the attitude of the present government: “Education is our foremost interest. We regard it as the foundation of our prosperity and the basis of our very existence. For this reason we are doing all that we can do to strengthen its activity and increase its power. I have created a public school for boys and another for girls in every community in the republic. Education is such a national interest that we have established a Ministry of Public Instruction to watch over it. We have learned from Japan, what we indeed knew before, but did not realize quite clearly, that education is the one thing needful to a people; if they but possess it, all other distinctions are added unto them.”

The educational system has been revolutionized, it might be said created, within a little more than a quarter of a century under the guidance of one man except for a period of four years. The schools are non-sectarian and the teaching of religion is absolutely prohibited. “That” says Diaz, “is for the family to do, for the state should teach only scholarship, industry and patriotism.” The schools in the Federal District, which includes the City of Mexico and suburbs, and the territories of Tepic and Lower California, are under the direct control of the executive. The Federal District alone has nearly four hundred schools, and a number of fine new school buildings have been erected in the past four years after American models. The idea of a school building without a play ground is strange to an American, yet in Mexico none, except the new ones, have any recreation ground whatever, and they are housed mostly in the old church properties that reverted to the government after the disestablishment. Another strange idea to the American mind is the separation of the sexes which is almost universal. The girls’ schools contain fewer pupils, for the parents, if possible, send them to private institutions or employ private teachers. Within the past year several million dollars was appropriated by congress for the erection and equipment of new buildings in the Federal District. Commissioners have been sent to the United States to study school systems, and we find their schools divided very much as our own.